


Cats & Cream

by utsu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 23:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1917642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/utsu/pseuds/utsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But she was Oikawa Tooru, the queen of cool, the sultry sultan, and she would not embarrass herself. </p><p>“Hrmph?” she gargled, spitting the collar of her jersey out of her mouth and flushing bright red. Smooth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cats & Cream

“It was a  _joke_ ,” Oikawa snapped, ripping her arm from Kuroo’s grasp, ignoring how soft her skin had felt against Oikawa’s wrist. She stomped ahead, not waiting for Kuroo to catch up, not looking back to make sure she was following. Kuroo’s legs were longer, a little firmer, held a little more muscle mass. Not that Oikawa would ever admit that she’d looked, that she’d  _studied_  those legs. Of course not.

And besides, Oikawa thought, smirking to herself as she shoved her perfectly manicured hands into the pockets of her teal hoodie. Her own legs were smooth and lean and when she was on the court they made her feel like there was no distance between her and the net, like she could be wherever the ball was instantly. She was quick and strong and, okay, so what if her thighs weren’t as muscular as Kuroo’s? Now she was thinking about that stocky captain from that bastard Kageyama’s team, whose thighs were miniature arsenals she wouldn’t mind feeling wrapped around her. That girl, what was her name? Sawamura. She was built like a dream. 

Oikawa was  _not_  sexually frustrated. She wasn’t. Not at all.

She was a little sexually frustrated.

But that totally wasn’t her fault! She’d tried to finagle a one-night stand with her favorite vice captain and had received a very loving smack to the back of her head, and something from the shorter girl about an impending ass-kicking. So, that hadn’t gone as well as Oikawa had planned. Her next target had been the tall, quiet, sleek fox of a girl that was the manager of Karasuno’s volleyball club, but she had walked past all seven incredibly smooth invites to Oikawa’s bedroom. She even rejected the one offer Oikawa had made for them to get up close and personal with one another in the principal’s office! Sans the principal, obviously. Or not sans the principal…Oikawa was open-minded. But who in their right mind would walk away from such a dissident offer?

Okay so maybe Oikawa was going a little stir-crazy, it’s  _fine_. She’s just not used to being celibate for this long. This long being…her entire life. It wasn’t her fault that everyone took her winning personality and fabulous good looks as clear signs that she was both experienced and proficient in adult bedroom activities. She clearly needed help if her go-to description was  _adult bedroom activities_. Regardless. She worked hard to keep her hair smooth and silky, using way too many products to even bother naming, not to mention the once a month mayonnaise adventure that always left her smelling a little…well…like a condiment. Or a jar of mayonnaise. That’s what perfume and split-end control serums that smell like fruit baskets are for, anyways!

And to be honest, she had been born a little lucky when it comes to her skin. Fair and smooth and without blemish, she felt like a baby’s bottom no matter where people touched her. If people were touching her. Which they were  _not_.

And that brings her back to the current problem.

Actually, one of her current problems. The other, infinitely more annoying problem was currently following her around town, hands stuffed into the most hideous pair of black sweatpants Oikawa had ever laid eyes on—was that a  _blood_ stain—and whistling some tune that would undoubtedly be stuck in Oikawa’s head for the remainder of the day. With Oikawa’s luck lately, she wouldn’t hesitate to postulate that the damn song would be stuck in her head for the entire  _week_.

“I’m pretty sure you’re going the wrong way.” Kuroo’s voice floated right over Oikawa’s shoulder, loud enough to be heard in the chaos of the evening shopping crowds, but soft enough to make Oikawa feel as though her ears had been violated, or something. She shimmied underneath a shiver, hoped that Kuroo wouldn’t notice and scowled when she turned and saw the raven-haired girl and her usual shit-eating grin, looking a tinge more smug than usual.

“I’m going to the beauty store two blocks from here. I don’t know where you think  _you’re_  going.”

“You talking about Midorima’s Beauty Supply?” Oikawa paused, surprised that Kuroo knew of the place. It was a popular store—it had literally everything a girl like Oikawa could ever want or need; lip gloss and lipstick in every shade one can imagine, foundation, bronzer, and an assortment of eye shadow that left Oikawa breathless. The place also had this sort of…random selection of stuffed animals and gadgets that one wouldn’t really expect to be in a make-up store, but from the looks of the green-haired, bespectacled beauty behind the counter that constantly had some weird item on her shoulder, Oikawa was willing to let it slide. Besides, she thought, frowning slightly, the stuffed animals were pretty cute. But for someone like Kuroo, who Oikawa had never seen wear a lick of make-up in her life, it was seriously surprising that she even knew the place existed. Oikawa felt a trace of respect curl through her chest, but the moment she looked up into Kuroo’s eyes and saw that she looked entirely too proud of herself, Oikawa’s small grin morphed back into a frown.

Who did this loser think she was?

“We passed Midorima’s, just so you know.” Oikawa froze, feeling Kuroo breeze around to her side rather than ram into her from behind. A small favor. Feeling like a complete idiot because  _damn_ , she was right, they had passed the shop already and now she’d have to scramble for an excuse on the spot and she hated when she didn’t appear totally in control. But then, before she could even begin to stick her foot in her mouth, Kuroo nudged her shoulder and continued walking on, grinning over her shoulder when she looked to see Oikawa cautiously beginning to follow.

“You know what  _is_  this way, though?” Oikawa felt pressure begin to form behind her right eyebrow. If she kept scowling like this, she was going to have to spend the big bucks on that new skin-care product Midorima had been pushing on her last week, and she was so not looking forward to the dent in her bank account that would leave.

Kuroo smirked, wide and showing so many teeth Oikawa wondered if she should feel threatened. Instead, she was a little…into it.  _Oh my God_.

“The pet store.” It should so not be legal for someone to look that smug. Not in this country. Not on this planet, even. Oikawa had to swallow down the sudden baffling arousal she was feeling for the smirking garbage bin in front of her before she allowed herself to respond. No sense giving the game away, even if she  _had_ only just become aware that a game was going on between them at all.

“How many times do I have to tell you, it was a  _joke_. I’m not buying you a collar. I don’t even want to know what you expected me to do with it if I had gotten you one. And,” she said, putting a finger up to freeze the explanation Kuroo was preparing to offer her, one she knew without a doubt would be beyond her sexual depths, “I don’t want to know.”

Okay so maybe that was a lie; maybe she wanted to know. In detail. Sue her.

Kuroo’s somehow perfectly styled faux hawk was beginning to blend into the sky behind her, signaling to Oikawa that she needed to get home so that she could study the tapes of their next opponent. The game was only a few days away and even though Oikawa had all their secrets nailed to the edges of her skull, she wanted to make sure that they could exploit them completely. What fun was it to mess with something if you didn’t go all the way? One should  _always_  go all the way.

Wait. She didn’t mean it like  _that_ ; that thought should have never existed in the first place.

“I have to go,” she blurted, sounding panicked to her own ears. She tucked a small section of hair behind her ear, definitely not self-consciously, and watched as Kuroo’s head tilted in response, curious. Just when Oikawa thought Kuroo would protest and she’d have to literally make a run for it, the taller girl nodded her head, smirk fading down to a gentle grin.  _Huh_ , Oikawa thought, studying this new expression. She’d never seen it before, not on Kuroo’s face, not anywhere near her in fact. It was…nice. Cute, almost. Very cute. Her lips were thin but they were expressive and oh, thinking about it now, how often did Oikawa spend her time looking at those lips? Was it noticeable how distracted by them she was? Well. Who could honestly blame her? With this gentle expression, those lips curled only slightly at the corner, Oikawa thought Kuroo truly looked sweet.

“Take care of yourself, kitten.” Not sweet. Oikawa takes it all back; this girl is not sweet at  _all_. Squinting her eyes and huffing, she turns and heads off towards her house, throwing a careless, “Don’t call me kitten,  _tomcat_ ,” over her shoulder, uncaring that her reaction alone was enough to make Kuroo want to call her kitten whenever the opportunity would arise.

Huffing again, Oikawa determinedly did not look behind her to see if Kuroo was still standing there, watching her go. If the Nekoma captain had any wits about her, she’d be heading on home herself. It was getting late, night already spilling over the landscape of the town, stars ripping holes in the sky. Oikawa almost hesitated, almost stopped to turn back and offer to walk back with her—it was safer in pairs—but then she pictured Kuroo in her mind and all she could see were those firm thighs, those strong shoulders, the defined biceps…Kuroo was a strong girl. Oikawa knew she could take care of herself and would probably either be severely insulted or amused should Oikawa turn back and try to offer her assistance in any way. Oikawa herself was built pretty strong, but still. She knew that she would scoff at the taller girl if their circumstances were flipped. So instead, she kept walking, flipping the collar of her jacket up to block her neck from the cold bite of the night breeze, forgetting entirely that she probably should have been wondering why Kuroo had even been in this town tonight, given that she lived nowhere near Oikawa.

“Kitten,” she whispered, shaking her head. How does Kuroo come up with this stuff.

✧

Aobajousai had scheduled a game against Nekoma the day after the game Oikawa had been preparing for on the night she ran into Kuroo. Which makes Kuroo’s presence in the city actually make sense, not that Oikawa had realized something was off until much, much later that night when she had been lying wide awake in bed, hands tucked under her cheek as she thought about her encounter with the irritating girl.

 _Not_  that she had laid awake thinking about Kuroo while she was in her pajamas, in her room, in her bed.

But really, who wears black sweatpants that hang so low they’re about to fall right off? And who pairs sweat pants with a crop top that has paw prints on it? Isn’t that kind of…trashy? Oikawa would admit only to herself that she honestly had not minded. Not with the generous glimpse of Kuroo’s abs, all equally as defined as those biceps of hers.

The girl was a bad joke walking. Belonging to a team of cats, wearing a shirt with cat prints on it, using endearing cat-related nicknames, honestly.  _Honestly_. Oikawa didn’t know how she had survived growing up without ridicule, though it definitely could be that she was powerful and talented and a certified babe.

Wait. That’s not what she meant at all. Seriously, no. She was  _not_  attracted to Kuroo Tetsurou, sleezeball captain of Nekoma’s girl’s volleyball team. She didn’t care if she had abs that looked tasty, or arms that belonged on a dessert dish, or a mysterious little smile that felt like a birthday present. She didn’t care if Kuroo’s voice was a curious mixture of hushed and dark tones, one that scraped over the baby hairs lining Oikawa’s neck and made them all stand on end.

Oikawa Tooru was not into Kuroo Tetsurou.

Right?

✧

Damn, but Kuroo looked good in her volleyball uniform.

Oikawa was  _so_  beyond caring about her own internal thirst anymore, to be honest. It had only been a few days since The Encounter but all Oikawa could think about was Kuroo’s strong, tight form underneath her uniform and how the muscles would look shifting through the motions of receives and serves and  _wow_ , receives. They, uh, they really did amazing things to Kuroo’s thigh muscles.

It’s not like Oikawa let her internal thirst struggle affect her game, though. She still obliterated any and every player on the court when it came to serves, her power untouchable—literally, untouchable. Even the libero on Nekoma couldn’t touch her serves, and yes, she was  _beaming_  because of it.

Sadly, the score ended in a tie, which, don’t even get her started. So embarrassing. The sun  _had_  peeked in through the window to the gymnasium and gotten into their faces at times and—what? The sun in their eyes was a valid reason for their deficiency! Oikawa was certain that if you asked Nekoma why they hadn’t clobbered Aobajousai they’d say something similar, probably that a breeze had come in and pushed them off their marks by an inch each or something. Anyways. They tied and it was terrible only when the game ended, because otherwise the entire game was basically a battle of Kuroo’s and Oikawa’s eyes trying to skillfully undress the other in as obvious a way as possible. It was a wonder none of their teammates caught on.

There may have been one moment where their rotations aligned so that they were right in front of one another, with just the net between them. Oikawa may have licked her lips while keeping eye contact with Kuroo, may even have stretched her body as if to say  _oh, my muscles are tight_ , and basked in the way Kuroo’s eyes deadpanned at her. It wasn’t just Oikawa, though! Kuroo had that stupid smirk plastered on her face and she was  _sweating_  and it was dripping into the collar of her jersey and then there were her  _thighs_.

It might have just been Oikawa.

After finishing the post-game rundown in their huddle—you can’t fault Oikawa for her compartmentalization abilities, because damned if she didn’t take in and transmit every piece of data they could manage from Nekoma in order to give a detailed report to her teammates and coach whilst simultaneously wondering what it would feel like to have Kuroo’s lips pressing into the dip between her thigh and her—

“Practice tomorrow, bright and early!” she chirped, cutting her own mental rambling off. She may be good, really good, at this whole compartmentalization thing but damned if her fair skin didn’t give every little nervous tick away like a tidal wave of blood crashing from ear to ear over her face. Fanning herself because she was hot from  _the game_ , and  _not_ because her mind was entrenched firmly in the gutter, she heaves her bag up and on to her shoulder, preparing to head out to the locker rooms. On her way there, she gets distracted with trying to pull her shirt out of it’s tucked-in position in her shorts one-handed, even going so far as to bite her collar and tug it for added assistance.

“Need help?” Oikawa knows that voice. Oikawa had had  _dreams_  about that damn voice. But she was  _Oikawa Tooru_ , the queen of cool, the sultry sultan, and she would not embarrass herself.

“Hrmph?” she gargled, spitting the collar of her jersey out of her mouth and flushing bright red. Smooth.

Kuroo ran a hand through her wild hair, which did nothing to change it’s wild style and gravity-defying nature, but it looked hot as heck and Oikawa was so upset about that. Then, she was moving around behind Oikawa, un-tucking the back of her shirt, the part that Oikawa had not been able to un-tuck herself.

“Uh, thanks. I guess.” She was fidgeting; she knew it was hard to tell but she knew that Kuroo knew and that made it the  _worst_.

“Come with me.”

Oikawa hesitated, surprised.

“I…need to shower.” She stalled, lifting a hand to rub the back of her neck, which, probably not the smartest move after an intense game of volleyball, but there it was. Before her hand could even come into contact with her sweaty neck, however, it was held between the long, smooth fingers of Kuroo’s right hand and the smirk on her face was gone, which was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. Oikawa decided right then and there that she was tired of cock-blocking herself, however that may work. She’d been  _dreaming_  about this, for heaven’s sake!

So she let Kuroo pull her towards the other side of the court, the guest team’s locker room, and felt her heartbeat pick up steadily behind the cage of her chest. She wondered if Kuroo could feel the increase in pace from her wrist, and swallowed. Being pulled behind the taller girl was sort of embarrassing and usually Oikawa would’ve put a stop to that immediately—she could walk  _herself_ , thanks—but from this view, this close, her view of Kuroo’s ass was  _spectacular_.

What? She had her eyes on the prize.

They wrapped around the turn of lockers and Oikawa was momentarily surprised to see the locker room completely empty. As in cleared out. As in Kuroo must have told her entire team a really frickin’ amazing excuse as to why they could not shower before their bus ride back to Nekoma in order for them to have this opportunity.

Either Kuroo was as sexually frustrated as she was, or she was as thirsty for Oikawa as Oikawa was for her.

Aw.

Oikawa’s bag slipped right off her shoulder and smacked against the ground, sounding like a gunshot in the close-quarters of the room, bouncing off the walls and coming back to them in an instant. She stepped forward, ahead of Kuroo, and turned, smirking. She was about to say something incredibly snarky, incredibly self-assured and maybe a little planned-out, when one second she was watching the lockers flicker by her turning head and the next she had a face full of black hair.

Those were  _lips_  on her  _pulse_.

“W-woah, you really don’t waste any time do you?” she mumbled, pinching her thigh to hold in a moan at the feeling of Kuroo’s smooth hands on her waist, cinching the material of her jersey there. She found herself pushing her body against Kuroo’s, leaning in to the hard lines of her body, feeling the brush of her breasts against Oikawa’s and shivering at the sensation. Kuroo scraped her teeth down Oikawa’s neck, causing the brunette to hiss out in pleasure. The fact that Kuroo had just gotten Oikawa to  _hiss_  in pleasure was enough to remind her that she was  _Oikawa frickin’ Tooru_  and where the heck had her cool factor gone? Every time she was with Kuroo she felt like she was being one-upped, like all of her smooth remarks and her quick wit melded together in her throat and came out like sludge off her tongue, which. Ew.

But she was  _so_  not going to lose where it mattered, not here, pressed against the lockers with a lock digging into her tailbone, definitely leaving a mark she’d find in her reflection the next morning. She may have been the biggest virgin on the planet, but damn, she fake-sex-kittened  _so hard_. She was so not going to be outdone in this most important and wonderful occasion.

With one hand reaching up to grasp the thick of Kuroo’s faux hawk and pull her head back and away, baring her neck and dipping forward to lick a line up her pulse to the corner of her jaw, her other hand slipped easily under Kuroo’s jersey and climbed up, up, up until her fingertips met the band of Kuroo’s black sports bra. Oikawa grinned as Kuroo mewled, shifting against her, chuckling at the realization that Oikawa could play hardball, too.

As quick as Oikawa had gained control of the situation it was taken from her, as Kuroo simultaneously flicked her head out from under Oikawa’s hold and pushed her jersey up and over her breasts, exposing Oikawa’s lucky white sports bra (the one with the volleyball patch the size of a tangerine that she’d attempted to sew in herself; it wasn’t  _that bad_  shut up). Kuroo wasted no time in tugging the material up and watching as Oikawa’s pert breasts bounced, the baby hairs surrounding her nipples standing on top of a shiver that wracked her entire body.

Kuroo groaned, carefully removing Oikawa’s shirt completely and leaving her lucky sports bra wrangled around her neck and one arm as she dipped forward and nuzzled Oikawa’s left breast, her nose flicking the pert pink nipple there, just once. No one had ever touched Oikawa like this before, not ever. The only people who had ever even seen her breasts were the girls on her team in the showers, and really, that didn’t count at all. Not like this.

The exact moment that Oikawa realized she was so not getting control back in this situation—and that she was so incredibly  _okay_  with that—occurred somewhere in-between Kuroo’s hand scaling down her back like it was a work of art, landing squarely on her butt cheek, and the wet heat of Kuroo’s mouth surrounding her neglected nipple.

“Yes,” Oikawa hissed. “Oh.”

Kuroo hummed into her breast, gently biting her nipple and watching how it hardened under her ministrations. The hand on Oikawa’s butt squeezed, still gentle, so gentle,  _too_ gentle. Huh. It seemed that Oikawa was one of those girls that liked it rough. You learn new things every day.

“More,” she demanded, leaning down to nudge Kuroo’s head away from her nipple for just a moment, a flickering moment that allowed for her to bring the lobe of Kuroo’s ear between Oikawa’s teeth, a gentle but insistent tug. Kuroo grinned, and damn, that was sexy. Her eyes, sharp as blades, didn’t leave Oikawa’s as she brought her knee up to nestle between Oikawa’s legs, rubbing just as insistently against Oikawa’s center as Oikawa had tugged at Kuroo’s earlobe. Breaking the eye contact first because she  _had_ to, she flung her head back and just barely missed banging her head against the lockers. Oikawa moaned, grinding against Kuroo’s knee, muttering little needy sounds that she wasn’t even sure made sense, but Kuroo seemed to answer every request.

Kuroo was a generous lover.

Wait, were they lovers now? Before Oikawa could even begin to go there, her brain flat-lined once again as Kuroo’s tongue dipped out and lavished over Oikawa’s nipple and Kuroo  _purred_.

“You have the softest, most beautiful skin.” She groaned, the hand not on Oikawa’s ass coming up to grasp the breast she wasn’t currently licking like the world’s finest ice cream cone. What a fucking wonderful analogy, Oikawa thought in irritated amusement, glad that her talents were in physical sports and not intellectual debates.

“Damn right,” Oikawa whispered. “My genes are awesome.”

Kuroo was laughing, she was definitely laughing, but it sounded like she found Oikawa endearing. Like she was enchanted.

“You’re as pale as the moon, Tooru-chan,” her teeth were so  _sharp_  and she kept tugging at that one nipple and it was driving Oikawa up the wall, literally up the wall. She was panting, trying to make coherent words come between the puffs of breath she’d been reduced to.

“Rude,” she managed, at first. Then, “Oh my God, Kuroo, share the love.” And even though that barely even made logical sense to Oikawa, Kuroo seemed to understand. Maybe she was more intuitive than Oikawa had originally thought? Or maybe she finally realized that Oikawa’s left nipple was dark enough to be a hickey on it’s own, while it’s counterpart was still a soft, rosy pink.

“You’re so pale,” Kuroo reiterated, and Oikawa was pretty much thinking about adding some S&M into this newfound relationship by smacking the girl, but she didn’t think she was quite ready for that yet. Keyword: yet.

“Yes, thanks. And you are tanned to perfection. Now please, shut  _up_.”

“You’re pale, like…cream.” Kuroo laughed, eyes gleaming. Oikawa lifted her head from its resting position back on the lockers, trying to glare but too caught up in the haze of arousal and pleasure and just absolute  _joy_  at the feelings Kuroo was inciting in her. She watched as Kuroo glanced down at her right nipple, lovingly kissed it, slowly rubbed her lips against it, and then looked back up at Oikawa so that the brunette could see her smirk grow tenfold.

“Cats love cream.”

“Oh my  _God_ ,” Oikawa moaned, this time purposely slamming her head back against the lockers. “You are the most embarrassing person I’ve ever met in my entire li—”

Kuroo was laughing against her breast, her hand sliding along Oikawa’s ass to her thigh and wrapping the appendage around her generous hip, getting as close to Oikawa as she possibly could. Her fingertips were pushing past the hem of Oikawa’s volleyball shorts and were teasing the line of Oikawa’s lace panties; they were so close to where they  _needed to be_.

“Oh my God,” she said again. Kuroo hummed amusedly and Oikawa was pretty sure she was going insane because even though it was just a hum, a vibration from Kuroo’s throat, all Oikawa could hear was one really irritating line, clear as day:

_Hell yeah, kitten._

✧

So Oikawa’s first time with someone else’s stuff all up in her business was in the guest team’s locker room. Of her own gymnasium. Of her own school. She supposed that was a step up from the principal’s office debacle, but still. Practice the next morning was  _so_ awkward for her. She kept glancing over at the entrance, expecting to see Kuroo standing there, all tall and smug and ruffled and gorgeous, but she saw absolutely nothing.

And she kept  _checking_ , like she was missing something. Like she was missing someone. She most certainly was not missing anyone. Her teammates were starting to notice her weird behavior, her lack of fawning in front of her fans, who were getting  _incredibly_  suspicious and dangerous. Oikawa still played with her A-game, but when she wasn’t directly involved with a play or was supposed to be surveying her teammates, she kept getting caught distracted. People were starting to ask her if she was feeling okay, if she needed to sit down, maybe she should go hit the showers? But then she was thinking about showers, and showers made her think of the locker room, and the locker room made her think of birds singing and sunshine through dew-speckled windows and annihilating that trashy Shiratorizawa ace and winning the national championship.

She was not in love.

Practice was almost over and Oikawa had fended off more of the concerned and questioning looks and inquiries. She hadn’t looked over in the general direction of the guest team’s locker room in like, twenty minutes. Probably. So as a reward of sorts, as she shifted position along with the rotation, she ignored the coach’s whistle that signaled the beginning of the play and glanced over at the guest team’s locker room one last time. But still, she saw absolutely nothing.

Including her favorite vice-captain’s serve, which incidentally, was right on target for the first time all day. The target being: Oikawa’s pretty little face.

✧

“So, where we headed?” Kuroo asks, hands tucked into the back pockets of a pair of black skinny jeans that Oikawa seriously wonders how she squeezed into in the first place. Oikawa ignored her. In fact, Oikawa had been ignoring her for the past half hour, ever since they’d met up at Aobajousai and headed into the city together. Kuroo kept quiet for the most part, sometimes imparting wise bits of information like how the back of Oikawa’s neck flushed right along with her ears and cheeks when she was nervous or embarrassed, or how the brown leather miniskirt she was wearing did incredible things to her nonexistent ass. By the time they were in a five-minute distance of Oikawa’s intended destination, she felt that familiar pressure behind her right eye and was way past wanting to smack Kuroo and fully submerged in listing off a number of acceptable punishments that she would love to introduce Kuroo to.

Number one had, obviously, been spanking. Number eighty-seven was much more inventive and had a lot to do with silk ties, a whip, and clamps. Don’t even ask how Oikawa knew about such things. She still has at least thirteen more punishment methods to go through before she’ll let her mind focus back on reality.

She gets to ninety-eight when Kuroo dips her head over Oikawa’s shoulder and plants her lips in a gentle kiss right below Oikawa’s ear, lingering.

“I know where we’re going, kitten.”

“Shut up,” Oikawa snaps, flushed. She reaches out and grasps Kuroo’s hand, those long, smooth fingers curling around hers. “I think red is a good start.”

“Mmmm,” Kuroo agrees, somehow on the same page. It’s only been a week, just seven days, but already she’s beginning to recognize just how attuned to her Kuroo is, and if Oikawa is being completely honest with herself? She’s charmed by it.

“Bell or no bell?” Kuroo asks, curious, sidling up closer so that there is almost no space between them, save for the gap left between the dips of their waists. Oikawa smirks, enjoying the feeling of having control over Kuroo, even if only in the light of day. She could get used to the dayshift, and didn’t mind leaving Kuroo and her spectacularly…efficient control to the nightshift.

Oikawa’s smirk grows as they turn the corner and see the neon pet store sign, Kuroo’s hand squeezing Oikawa’s when they see the small sign advertising an assortment of collars.

 “Bell.”

 Oikawa and Kuroo turn to each other and  _grin_.

**Author's Note:**

> B)


End file.
